Beautiful Girl
by Aquinox
Summary: Song-fic. Seven years of fighting and hating, to finally realize what they are feeling. One can only hope, it is not too late. Somewhat AU, so some people may be dead, some not. Go figure.


**Author's Notes:** Song-fic. Characters are so obvious, if you still cannot see who they are, I beg you, get a new pair of glasses. The song is old, yes, I know, I like old songs. Sue me. I swear, I'll sue right back. Reviews of any sort are welcomed. Zero reviews are treated with indifference.

**Summary:** Seven years of fighting and hating, sometimes, it takes longer, sometimes, it's the right amount of time for a person to finally realize what they are feeling. One can only hope, it is not too late.

**Disclaimer:** Do I LOOK rich? No? Well, there you go.

**Warning:** Overtly sweetness in the Omake, in which, there are very, very minor hints of slash, if you squint, though, it's a wonder why people's mind travel straight to the gutter regardless what. I mean, friendship isn't that foreign, is it?

* * *

Beautiful Girl

_Beautiful girl, wherever you are  
I knew when I saw you, you had opened the door  
I knew that I'd love again after a long, long while  
I'd love again._

The first time I laid eyes on you, perhaps 'beauty' was not the term I would use, nor would I care for that absolute mess you call 'hair', Potter being the only possible contender for it. You were talking; your mouth was moving, non stop, something about 'Hogwarts, A History', something about the ceiling.

I rather thought you were pathetic.

The low hum of your voice, I heard it, over the droves of other noises surrounding us. Maybe I was lying when I said I thought you were pathetic, after all, not even the most diligent pure blood child would bother memorizing every single bit of a bloody boring book, not even if our pride depended on it.

No, maybe we might, but that's not the point.

My first lesson was to never extend friendship to people who would serve me no purpose. I avoided you like a plague. Sure, you were smart (as much as I loathed admitting), you were sarcastic, but not crude. You were a worthy companion. Yet, you were also a Mudblood.

Pity, really.

Maybe if you were someone different, maybe we might have been able to be 'something'. Maybe if you were a Slytherin, maybe… Oh, me? I won't change. I doubt it. I can't change. Father would have my head, literally. No love lost there. Never had, you know. Not in our house. That's purebloods for you.

_You said "hello" and I turned to go  
But something in your eyes left my heart beating so  
I just knew that I'd love again after a long, long while  
I'd love again._

I tried, I really did. I saw you on the train, you know, with that toad boy, what's his name? Square-bottom or something. I saw you speak to them, the Weasel, and of course, _him_, the downfall, of a certain 'Dark Lord'.

You didn't see me, no, you rattled on about spells and stuff, and then you left. I tried, really tried, to make friends with the 'oh great kiss-my-shoes-because-I-saved-your-world' Harry Potter. Well, maybe I'm biased. Looking back, I admit he was nothing more than a scared boy, more so than us, than you. Maybe if I didn't try to flaunt in his face, we might be friends.

Your tactic had worked better. The three of you are inseparable now, you'd stand up for them, yourself, and vice versa, I could _feel_ the proof of that, very, very painfully.

I recall that punch you know, it hurt, really, really hurt. Anyone who says females are the weaker sex, the fairer one, ought to have their heads checked. That spot? The one you punched me? It throbs when I see you. It serves to fuel my frustrations (what type, I'm not sure) and I call you names, I taunt you, I…

I was an utter prat.

Oh, don't look at me like that. I know. I'm not ignorant. Maybe a little jaded about life and whatnot, but I'm not stupid. I watched the Weasel look at you, stupefied, and Potter, well, he looked, as much as any guy would look like when the person whom they were supposed to keep safe and whatnot lashed out and punch their arch nemesis.

It would be rather funny, if I wasn't so pissed off at that moment. Pissed off, and perhaps, a tad bit impressed.

_It was destiny's game  
For when love finally came on  
I rushed in line only to find  
That you were gone._

I hardly ever see you any more. At least, not without the other two bodyguards of yours tagging along. Ironic, isn't it. I have bodyguards too, but you call them your friends, and it was obvious to any one with half a mind, that you and the Weasel were the fairy-tale couple. The ones meant to aid the Hero, and then, fade into the background and live happily ever after.

Goyle asked me why I stopped eating.

I snapped something at him, he grunted, and Parkinson (The little minx!) latched herself onto my arm and cooed (Damn it woman, shut up already) something along the lines of her Drakey-baby (Egad, I hate that nickname) being unfairly treated and something. She has been all over me since that overgrown beast's incident, Buckbeak? Something like that. I sometimes wonder why I bother acting dramatic. It serves only to give me headaches.

I muttered something, shaking my arm free. I could feel your gaze though, all three of you, but yours, it was less… prejudice, in a way. After all, weren't you the one that went and dragged Potter and Weasel into that 'spew' campaign of yours?

I was lost in my thoughts, this time, Crabbe, have to praise him for bravery, or was that stupidity? Can't tell. He asked if I was sick. I, well, you can say I lost my cool. I snarled, then ignored them, stood (Parkinson fell down, it was funny) and prepared to stalk out of the Great Hall.

When I looked up, the three of you were gone.

_Whenever you are, I fear that I might  
Have lost you forever like a song in the night  
Now that I've loved again after a long, long while  
I've loved again._

The three of you, the Golden Trio, always off for some adventure, first, it was the Philosopher's Stone, then itwas Basilisk, where you nearly died…

Ah yes, that year. Goyle and Crabbe acted weird too, but I forgot about that, when I heard of the news that you were petrified. I thought I'd be please, that fluttering feeling in my chest. I kept recalling how you looked like during our first years, and told myself it was hatred for your kind, yes, your kind.

Little did I know, I was wrong.

Then, third year. You guys went off marauding, trying to catch an escapee from Azkaban. I wanted to laugh and scream all at once. Maybe grab that Potter's scarred head and bash it against the wall a few times. Bad enough he attracts trouble like a… a raw meat attracts Hippogrifs, he had to drag you two along.

Had to drag you along.

Thank Merlin Sev was there. Sev, yes, Severus. You didn't know, did you, Godfather, my Godfather, well, we Slytherins are a bit obsessive, and…

But this isn't his story.

Anyway, that was in the past now. You can't say I didn't try. I tried, very hard, to keep an eye on Potter. He's the trouble among you three. You should have seen it, should have noticed. You are the 'brains' of the group anyways. No one would suspect my obsession with 'the trio', probably some hidden agenda, they would think, especially when I joined that utter TOAD of a woman.

I was trying to keep you safe.

Let me tell you, before you start gaping like a fish out of water, oh and Potter? Close that mouth. Weasel, you better start breathing. You are turning a lovely shade of blue. Clashes with your hair though. I was shocked, yes, and I don't particularly like being shocked. I tried to reason my obsession away with the fact that you beat me in all our classes (My father's furious, mind you). I tried to reason it as rivalry, it's only natural, yes? Keep your friends close, your enemies closer.

I tried, I really did. But when I came to terms with my feelings, you, all three of you, were gone, again. Something about Horcruxes. Something dangerous.

As usual.

_It was destiny's game  
For when love finally came on  
I rushed in line only to find  
That you were gone._

I fumed for days. I was staying with the Death Eaters now. Not the greatest of all accomplishments, I failed our Lord's instructions to kill Dumbledore. I managed to get the cabinet in though, so I was spared. A few rounds of Cruciatus, I lost count after the third.

Sev and Father, well, they usually don't tell me things, like how the resistance is working and stuff. I know bits and pieces, from snooping around. Yes, that's right, I snooped.

Sev noticed first, noticed the strange behaviour, and he cornered me and questioned me about it. I was, not afraid, no, more like, resigned. I told him, from start to end, and I even used the line 'love and hate are but a fine line away', I swear, I washed my mouth out with acid after that. I can't believe I may have, most probably, channelled that old fool.

Sev looked green as well.

It was a blessing, perhaps, that Sev was my Godfather. My Occlumency was taught from the time of my first accidental magic. So no one knew, not even my father. No one knew that a snake could fall in love with a lion.

--

Everybody turned and stared at the panting, dishevelled looking blonde who had just interrupted the ceremony, though, it did not seem to be interrupted, in fact, they seem to have been waiting for him. Pale, stormy eyes narrowed at the sight of red, literally, and took in the 'bride' at the altar. The rings were already exchanged, he knew, from the way Potter now stood a little further off for the new couple to kiss.

He thought his heart would have stopped.

Silence met his ears, and with somewhat shaky legs, he settled down on the last of the rows of benches, too shell shocked to speak. He had caught no sight of the bride, except that it was a she; the veil did its job. Oddly, the Weasel had not kissed her yet, all eyes were still on him, as if waiting.

He slowly looked up.

A muffled gasp escaped him, when an unknown face met his, and smiled. Dazed, he nodded, nearly jumping out of his skin when a hand clasped down on his shoulder. He turned to face green, swirling green, hidden behind a pair of round glasses. Harry Potter.

"She has a good aim, that 'Mione. I always wondered why she was not in Ravenclaw, but I guess her bite was more painful than a bark."

A blink, slow, comprehension flooding his features as he took off, a muttered 'thanks' thrown over his shoulder as he sprinted from the church, missing the smile on the face of his once nemesis, and the beam on the faces of the newly wed couple. Perhaps, theirs weren't the only love to be created on that morning.

_Beautiful girl, I'll search on for you  
'Til all of your loveliness in my arms come true_

He flooed to Hogwarts, stumbling out into an empty room, also known as 'Snape's Lair'. He didn't think the Headmaster (Mistress, Headmistress) would enjoy having a former student suddenly tumbling out into his (her, must remember, her) room, nor did he think his Godfather would mind very much, him suddenly appearing. In fact, he was quite sure the room was not nearly that empty, and a pair of familiar hands helped him gather his bearings before tossing him out into the corridors, telling him to 'quit dawdling like a headless first year and get to it'.

Yup, his Godfather wouldn't mind.

He ran, harder than he ever did, to that place, where his cheek would throb slightly, where _she_ punched him. He ran, wheezing, panting, gasping for breath, his trademark hair now resembling Potter's in a very, very terrible way. His senses, honed during the War, told him there was no one nearby, he thought his heart could have fallen out and turned into a pin cushion.

"Draco Malfoy."

Of course, he forgot, she too, was a veteran of the Great War. He stilled. The adrenaline that had pushed him this far, the trepidation, everything, came rushing back, and suddenly, Draco wished he was far, far away, yet at the same time, there was no other place he would rather be.

"Granger."

"Hermione"

"…"

"Do you really still want to call me by my surname after all that?"

He winced. He knew what 'that' was. He had been drunk, stoned, during Weasley's bachelor party. Yes, he was invited. They were on, somewhat shaky footings, not really friends, but not at all enemies. He had toasted the red head, had downed the drinks, until the others had left, and he still nursed his half-drunk, 10th (or was it the 20th ?) cup of Firewhiskey.

He didn't really recall what happen, except that Weasley had went off, apparently, he couldn't hold his liquor, and there was Potter, Potter with his ever knowing, _damned_ twinkling gaze, had waited, and waited, until he cracked, and spilled the _exact same _ sob story he told his Godfather. Potter did nothing, really, he expected the other to burst into laughter. But Potter merely gave him another _damned _twinkle, and said that perhaps, all wasn't lost.

He thinks Dumbledore may be back to haunt them.

_You've made me love again after a long, long while  
In love again_

"I…"

She merely smiled, and closed the distance. He had a sense of déjà vu, except this time, it wasn't a fist that connected with his face. This time, it wasn't anger that flooded his being. This time, he didn't taste his own blood, but a whole new, _nice_ feeling, in his mouth.

Oh, he was still a Malfoy. She was still… Granger.

Maybe, just maybe, they would work out after all.

_  
And I'm glad that it's you  
Hmm, beautiful girl_

* * *

**Omake**

"You really are taking up his place, aren't you…"

"I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about, love."

"Brat."

"Git."

"Insolent boy."

"Snarky professor."

"Meddling coot."

"Hey! That was uncalled for."

"You had it coming at you, and for Merlin's sake, stop that damned twinkling!"


End file.
